The hand gripping his military badge clutched tighter as the ache began to grow inside of him as if someone were hollowing out his chest with a spoon. His eyes were still boring silver and intent into Jarlath's blues, but he was fading in and out; some drastic change was clearly taking place within him. Then, even the sounds of men and women alike voicing their misery hit his ears in a haze, as if there were cottonballs in his ears dampening their calls. He was only halfway aware of what was taking hold, but by the time he'd realized that Jarlath was the source of it, it was too late. Nearby, a man pulled his knees to his chest and poured his heart out.
Jarlath. Bastard. Rath registered, just before the numbness flickered away to be replaced by unadulterated sorrow. Pale eyes flared wide. The white-knuckled grip on his badge was the only source of heat in his body, for the rest of him felt... bitterly cold, like he'd never feel happy again. He wanted to die.
Let it be known that Rath would /never/ have the guts to harm a child - the situation he'd described had been hypothetical, and designed purely to provoke Jarlath to come to terms with just what he was requesting be done. How his attitude towards Mordecai death really translated in full. Of course, had Rath known just who he was dealing with...
Well, actually. He probably would have done the same thing. Tact wasn't really a word in Rath's vocabulary.
His knees gave out beneath him slowly, allowing him to lower himself to the ground in something like an epiphany. For the most part he hadn't moved beyond that, until he began to shake. Trembling with the emotions, Rath began to dig the hellishly sharp tips of his claws into his palms. That felt good - the blood beading around the holes and running rivulets down his fingers. Staining the front of his uniform dark.
The pain was a decent distraction, though his actions would go unseen for the most part beneath his cloak. Focus on it... He willed, now dragging his digits across his palms until he was shredding the skin there into ribbons. Besides the terrifying fact that hurting himself felt justified in this state of mind, it was also aiding him in drawing away from the cold sadness he felt. Heat in the form of blood and... something unknown spilt from his wounds and puddled onto the floor.
Distantly, Rath noticed that someone was yelling desperately, then a dry sob that must've ripped from the throat like they'd been trying to suppress it. He had no idea that had been his own voice rising. His eyes were clenched shut now, head hung towards the floor while he envisioned his pain and sorrow as a glowing entity. He let it pulse with heat and compressed it as much as possible in an attempt to smother it from existence. It welled in his hands, and formed untold amounts of pressure in his fingertips. It felt like he were going to burn alive.
With both hands braced against the floor, he added the sting of the alcohol he'd spilt previously against his wounds to filter in. It was a pleasurable feeling really - the self loathing encouraged the mutilation in some twisted version of justice. Rath would have kept going, possibly on the path to killing himself, had the voice of the bartender not broken him from his enchantment.
"FIRE!"
Rath's eyes peeked open. From where his hands were pressed against the beer-sodden wood, flames were erupting in a loud, crackling fury. He could even smell his own flesh burning, as if the heat wasn't only from the pain, but also from... his fire magic?
The fire spread mercilessly, only catalyzed by the liquor as it roared across the floor. Tongues of it licked high enough to graze the dry wood of the roof, and that was all it took to set it ablaze. Even the ceiling beams were on fire.
Rath could only watch it in awe from his knelt position on the floor, head tilted back to watch the sky filter in through the holes that had singed through the wood. Someone must have been having sex upstairs, because he could have /swore/ he saw a naked girl flailing about in flames up there. Bits of the ceiling caved in around them, trapping most people and breaking bottles of liquor. The fire soared. He was far too gone now to escape for himself. Rath sat upon the floor motionless, bloodied and burned palms upturned as the world fell to ashes around him.
